#tw: mention of pet loss

[delilahrosenvold]

[ taylor swift,  female, she/her ] - was that DELILAH ABIGAIL ROSENVOLD i saw walking down the strip? i heard that the TWENTY NINE year old who has been in las vegas for NINE YEARS and works as a/an ANIMAL REHEBLIATOR  has a reputation of being SELFLESS, but also Stubborn. You will more than likely associate them with AN ENDLESS SUNDRESS COLLECTION, A SNAKE WRAPPED AROUND HER ARM  A PAROT ON SHOLDER, HONEY SUCKLE SWEET KISSES welcome to las vegas! [ laura, 25,they/them, cst, none ] (filling the wc of the mother of Nathan’s twins)

THIS IS RUSHED AND DIDN'T CHECK SPELLING OR ANYTHING DON"T COME FOR ME hehe!! super excited to be here! If you wanna plot like this and i'll message you.

basics ♡  

full name: Delilah Abigail Rosenvold

nicknames: Lilah or abby but only family or her closest friends call her that

gender: female

pronouns:;  she/her

occupation: animal rehabilitator

sexual preference: queer

birthdate & age: june 18th, 1994, twenty-nine years old

birthplace: silverton, colorado

currently resides: las vegas, nv

relationships ♡

mother: Margert Rosenvold (dead)

father: John Rosenvold

siblings: 3 brothers all younger

spouse / lover: she's single

exes: tbd

children:  twins

pets: a corn snake named frank and a hamster called ellie but many animals stay in her home

— favorite things ♡

ice cream flavor: mint chocolate chip

food: sushi

time of the day / night: dusk

season: spring

holiday: christmas

animal: horses, beaver and hawks

color: periwinkle

scent: hay fields, fresh cut grass, lilac

musician/band: noah kahan

misc. ♡

education: animal science degree and vet premed

bad habits: biting her cuticles and dressing the twins alike

a cherished item: her mother's locket

random fun fact: doesn't like the term crunchy mom yet she doesn't like giving the twins dyes or letting them any chemicals in their clothes

bio ♡

Deliliah grew up in what would be considered a upper middle class family, her mother stayed home making money from redo peoples closets and reorganizing their life's but she did that so she could be around her kids more. Her father was the main bread winner, he worked in city planning. Which is funny since Delilah's home town only have a population of 690 people and it's not changing anytime soon. Silverton is tiny and up in the mountains and was only Delilah knew until she left. She's a small town girl first. Hell, she owned a horse from ages six to nineteen when sadly she passed away. Not the last time that year Delilah would lose someone close to her. First her horse in an accident then her mother died. Margret was a wonderful mother she doted on her kids and made up for the fact all John did was work and go hunt and drink. He'd rather be in the mountain than with his family most times. This is turn made Delilah close to her mom. Not only was she the eldest but the only girl. So, when her mom get sick around Delilah's sixteenth birthday she did what any daughter would do, she stepped up. She knew her father couldn't or wouldn't handle taking care of her brothers working and taking care of her mom. Instead, the sixteen year old child did. She began to help her mom with house work, cooked food for her bothers, bathed her mom when got to weak. Did it all. Even put off going to school. Delilah didn't go to college until after her mom passed. She was going to stay and take care of her brother's even longer but she was already twenty and lost so much time plus on her death bed her mother told, " go be you". That has stuck with her for a long time. "Go be you" It plays in her head daily when she thinks she doing wrong. Moving away change her relationship with her family. Her father and her where never close but that only worsened when she came to him her fourth year of school and told him she was pregnant. Anger doesn't cover how he reacted. He called her a whole, a slut, told her she'd never be a vet now. But all she heard as he screamed at her was her mom's voice echoing in her mind. "Go be you" That's where she is now four years after she had twins. Being herself. Not being close to her family or at least her dad made her find herself. No she didn't get to finish vet school. Her pregnancy did change that but now she's an animal rehabilitator and works on her own time. Her home is always filled with animals some that will go back into the wild but others that will go to rescues and zoos. Most rewarding job . Just like her mom she gets to be with her kids. Gets to be a good mom. But mostly not taking to her dad took away the pressure of her being the perfect daughter. Being herself has opened her world and shown her while she might have kids with a man but she's mostly gay. Being openly queer is still new for her. The almost thirty year old didn't have her first queer experice until last year. Nathan had the kids and she went out to a club and for the first time had sex with someone who wasn't assigned male at birth. That moment a light went off in her head, "Go be you", she's gay. She might still like men and not regret a second of her life with her girls and their father but she likes women way more than she ever liked men. She knows she does like men still but there is way more to herself. She's calling herself queer now but still exploring and coming to terms with everything it's still so fresh for her. Now she just finds herself trying to live up to her goals and just co parent well and be a good mom.

wanted connections ♡

Best friend- self explanatory

The person she hooked up with at the club

mom friends/parent friends- they can go on play dates

her brothers- love her brothers she might not be close with her dad but maybe it's different with them??

Cousin?? Maybe

secret lover???

someone she's been in love with for a while but she figured it out?? Maybe they don't like her at all? Or maybe it's her best friend?? Maybe they are straight??

Someone she doesn't vibe at all with??

open for any and all!!

[cursedcatpictures]

scientist uncovers rarely photographed deep sea creature

[hannahssimblr]

I spend three hours wandering around the estate looking for Goose. I've checked every front garden, every hedge and flower bed and under every car, looked inside bins and up trees by the time I'm forced to contend with the fact that I haven't confronted the railroad tracks yet. I don't. I never pluck up the courage.

I can’t fathom it, being the one to find him there, sweet Goose with his little kitten paws and soft pewter fur. This thought that I hadn’t even considered until Michelle spat it at me is tormenting me now as I forlornly wander the evening streets, calling out the name that I’m not even sure he knows to answer to yet. 

I stumble upon Jen in a little park we used to drink in when we were fourteen. She’s been out looking too, evidently, but has had enough and is sitting on the ground gazing out over the last russet streaks of sunset over Dublin Bay. 

“Have you given up?” I ask her. Her eyes are clouded with sadness 

“I have a feeling he’s gone, Jude,” she says. I feel a lump forming in my throat. “He mightn’t be. He might come back, you know, cats are known to show up after being away for days, weeks, months even,” this is the sort of bargaining a person who refuses to accept the obvious truth gets too involved with, and the kind I’ve been doing with myself the whole afternoon, thinking that maybe if I imagine Goose’s return with enough conviction I will magic him home again, but Jen, for once does not match my idealism.

“He probably doesn’t know where his home is yet, he’s too new.”

“Yeah,” I shift some loose gravel with the toe of my shoe. “Jen, I feel so awful.”

“I know,” she says, and holds her arms out to me to pull me to the ground and wrap them around me, “It isn’t your fault, it could have happened to any of us.”

“I ruined the entire day with my stupidity.”

“Shh, stop,” gently fingers stroke my hair at the nape of my neck, “you just made a mistake, it’s human.”

“Did I ruin your date?”

She pauses, “It’s okay, I don’t think she realised it was a date, and it's probably for the best.” 

The wind rustles through the trees around the park, and I feel chilled with the knowledge that change is coming. The school year is ending soon and now the future lies unavoidably ahead of me, a path completely untrodden. 

“You’ll find someone else to take to the debs,” I tell Jen, peering at the side of her face as her short crop of chestnut hair is backlit by the sunset. “You should have been the first person to get a date anyway.”

She gives me a half smile, unconvinced, “there are like, four lesbians in our year including me.”

“Out lesbians,” I point out, “You never know.”

“When I go to college it will be better,” she says firmly, “school is just destined to be shit, romantically, I mean.”

“In all ways, I think.”

She just laughs. 

“This stuff is bullshit anyway.”

“What is? Love?”

I rub my arms where goosebumps are rising with the cold. I should have worn a jumper. “Yeah, you’re not missing out on much.”

A silence follows, one that feels deliberate, but I venture into it anyway, “Michelle and I had a bad fight earlier.”

“I heard.”

“Us shouting?”

“Mm.”

“Sorry.” I wipe my nose which is running from the cold with the back of my arm. “It was terrible, we both said awful things.”

She just circles her hand on my knee in a vague gesture of comfort.  

“Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to hurt me, you know what I mean? It’s like she has all of this bad stuff stored up that she wants to, like, unleash. It’s so vicious. It seems like she really wants to dig her nails in and leave a mark on me, and then I get so defensive, like, because talking it out doesn’t work, I have to shout, and I have to be horrible too so that she’ll even react to me.”

“We all say things we regret when we’re upset.”

“Yeah, but it’s so destructive. I come away from it all feeling like shit. Like, this isn't who I am, I’m not a person who fights. At least I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be up there saying these things to her, but I can’t stand there and let her say them to me either.”

“Yeah.”

“And I worry a lot about what things are going to look like after this year is over, like, with college and stuff,” even mentioning it makes my stomach feel tight, “like, um, how she wants us to live together and all.”

“And you’re nervous about that?”

I sigh, “Well, I don’t know, it makes sense to do it, right? She thought we could get a little place near NCAD, and we’ve been looking at houses online, and… I don’t know. The idea of being around her all of the time, like, twenty-four-seven, sharing a bed, eating every meal together, walking to college, it makes me feel claustrophobic, and then I worry that if I feel that way now, how am I going to feel when I’m actually doing it? Surely it’s not supposed to feel so terrible, right?” I prompt her when she doesn’t respond, “Jen? What do you think?”

She pauses for a long moment, toying with the aglets on the end of her boot laces. “I think that you’re asking me for an opinion I’m not prepared to give you.”

“...right.”

“We agreed, I agreed with you both that I’d never talk to one about the other. It’s not fair on me and I don’t want to feel stuck in the middle of it.”

“But-”

“You’re both nice people and I love you both so much, but when you are together you are absolutely horrible. That’s all I want to say.”

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't, I just sit in bad feelings and wish for the millionth time that my brain was normal enough to make good choices on its own and not beg them from other people.

I sniff again, though this time I’m not sure if it’s just because of the cold. “So, um, the acceptance deadline for those other colleges is coming up.” 

“The foreign ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you still going to turn them down?”

“I promised Michelle that I would.” 

Jen’s shoulders slump, all of her does, like someone has let the air out of her, but she just says, “Alright.”

I feel the teeth of my genuine desperation for her opinion, her approval gnawing at me. I just want the sage words of advice she’s withholding from me, “Is it a mistake? Like, if I reject their offers? Would that be the stupidest thing I ever did?”

“I don’t know.”

“I worked hard, you know? I really put everything I had into those applications, I gave them the best that I had and they loved it, they said really nice things about me in the letters, and sometimes, like, I think I’ll die, or something, if I don’t leave Dublin. But then there’s Michelle,” I fist the front of my hair in my hand, “and the things at home, and I don’t know what the right thing is, whether it’s hurting myself or hurting everyone else…”

“Jude,” Jen suddenly grabs hold of my face and forces me to look into her eyes, “you have to do what feels right, okay? I’m not going to tell you what to do. Like, just… you need to fucking search within or whatever.”

“Uh huh. What does that entail?” 

“I dunno!” She lets me go and stands up, brushing dirt from the back of her jeans, “C’mon, it’s cold, we should go home.”

“Uh, I was kind of hoping you’d be able to solve me, actually.”

“No, this time you can solve yourself. C’mon, up!” She presents her hand to me and I let her haul me onto my feet. 

“Ugh, Jen,” I say, feeling myself sinking back into a melancholy hole again, but she links my arms and brusquely walks me toward the playground gates with all the pep of a middle aged Sunday morning power walker. “You know what? I think we could both do with something nice to make us feel better.”

“What do you mean ‘something nice’?

“Like, I dunno, an ice cream or something.”

“What time is it? It must be after nine.”

“Yeah, so? I was thinking of that place with all the weird flavours, do you remember that?”

“Yeah, but it’s all the way in town. Effort.”

“You can drive, can’t you?”

“You want me to drive? Jen I hate driving.”

“I think you’ll do it for me.”

“Why’d you think that?”

She eyes me sideways, “After what you put me through today, hm?”

“That's manipulation.”

“No, it's payback.”

“Fine. I’ll go get the car.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Come on, before I change my mind.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[m00kieblaylock]

Hey 👋🏻

I have not been on here in I think 18 months-ish. Truthfully, 2023 was the most difficult year of my life. It’s completely surreal to be honest that it all happened, I couldn’t have written it if I tried. I think I’m still in a form of shock. I was in too much pain to write anything or even mindlessly scroll on this app, that has for so long been a comfort for me and where I got support from friends who I met or through joy I got from content etc.

Thing is, I lost my beautiful dog in the April who was my heart and shadow, who was my warmth and safe space. A week later I moved to a rural town which completely changed everything about my daily life. In itself it’s been a massive adjustment and identity and community and comfort is something I’m still figuring out. Then a couple months later my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer. He passed less than three months after. It fucking sucked because I adored him and never got a proper goodbye. It all just happened so quickly.

A few weeks before he died. My other dog, a sweet and beautiful girl who was my boys soulmate went to sleep and joined him. She was a very special girl and I still fucking miss them both. 2023 was basically me getting my heart torn to shreds too many times so close together that it was too much to even believe.

I was the closest to leaving this planet than I’ve ever been before. While it was definitely understandable to struggle with life at that point, it was worse than that. I find it hard to explain but my depression and anxiety were completely untenable for me to even slightly function. I had the darkest times and while I’m proud that I’m still here it’s been a lot. It’s kind of a miracle to think about how bad things got.

I put a lot of hard work into multiple avenues of mental health treatments. I even had an initial round of TMS treatments - something I would definitely consider discussing with anyone who is interested. It’s been completely exhausting. I am taking far longer than I would have ever anticipated to be myself again after the past couple of years and I do get frustrated, but the road is still ahead of me. Recovery isn’t linear or black and white. So here we are.

I am slowly but surely trying to include more positivity in my days, so I really want to come back on here. I deserve that joy again. I need it, in fact.

So, I’m not sure who is still around, who’s read this far or what has changed, but anyone who wants to catch me up on your life or touch base etc - I’m here to enjoy this little space again 💕✨

Molly 🫶🏻

[16-puppies]

A Quick Note on Death and Therianthropy

TW: mentions of animal death. Nothing super graphic but I thought I would make it as obvious as I can.

I wish there were more discussion about therianthropic origins that are outside of the spiritual/psychological/physical … like there are so many ways to be a therian or become one that I don’t see discussed at all. I also don’t know if there’s any discussion being had on how pet death may affect therianthropy, which is most of what I want to talk about here.

For example, my scenthound dog theriotype is specifically of emotional origin. I had never heard of anyone describing their experience this way , and I started using this term for myself nearly a year ago because calling my dog type just “psychological” didn’t feel right. I also think there may be a past life connected to this type as well, but I feel less focused on that part

This theriotype specifically came from my childhood dog and her death. She was a boxer beagle mix. Her death is integral to my identity because it happened right around the time I was questioning being a Vizsla dog, and it changed my perception of that theriotype forever. I was no longer a Vizsla but rather a mixed/uncertain breed of scenthound dog, and how I view myself as this theriotype has permanently changed to look more like my childhood dog. Dark masking, occasionally white markings, black claws against tan paws… quite the opposite of the uniform color of the Vizsla, who is a golden rust from nose to claw.

While I still do feel connected to Vizslas, especially the general short haired dog with floppy ears look and their behaviors, they just aren’t quite *me* anymore because of this.

I feel like pet death, or even just death in general is overlooked as a source of therianthropy or certain theriotypes… I think ultimately it comes from a place of deep empathy, which is why I felt “emotional kin” was more accurate to my experience than “psychological kin”. Thinking about this really makes me wonder how many experiences and awakenings aren’t talked about that include death in some way. Are there bovine therians who awakened as such after seeing one die on a farm? Are there deer therians who saw one of their own being hunted and realized then that they were one? Are there therians who found their kintype after being exposed to taxidermy of them? And, are there others like me who witnessed the death of their beloved nonhuman family member and watched their identity shift right before their eyes? What about therians with family and close friends who are therians? When they die, will they feel the sudden pull to “adopt” the theriotypes of their loved ones, so that a part of them is always there? So many questions, and I fear not enough research or discussion to answer them. It’s interesting to think about, at the very least.

[magicalshopping]

i am coping

[chloematis]

Hey all, we had to put our kitty Angel to sleep last night and I was wondering if anyone has recommendations for someone that makes glass jewelry out of cremain ashes? Thanks. (´ー`)ﾉﾞ

[b0amagination]

Hasan and Declan AU: Rebounding

I asked myself a simple question in September: what would it take for Hasan to act on the feelings they hold back, regarding Declan? Thus was born a universe in which things get, somehow, impossibly worse.

Hasan and Declan Masterlist

For those unfamiliar: Declan is being held against his will in Hasan's basement. Lee is Hasan's long distance boyfriend. That's all you gotta know <3

Content warnings: Nonconsensual/Forced Kissing, Noncon Touching, Intimate Whumper, Captive Whumpee, Firearms, Threats of Death. Please heed the warnings for this chapter. Though not sexual in nature, those triggered by noncon may find this work upsetting.

Click here for part two of the recording.

~~~

Declan knew something was wrong.

Whether or not Hasan would acknowledge it was another question.

But their face had remained staunchly sad for the past few days, and their eyes didn’t twinkle with that usual terrifying glint. 

It wasn’t that Declan cared at all for the mental health of his captor. This was more about his safety than anything else. Hasan’s mood often had a lot to do with that.

They hadn’t hurt him very badly yet. 

Yet.

Creaking door hinges announced their entry just as Declan began yet another mental spiral. 

Hasan stood in the doorway, a finger beckoning him. He stood up and approached in absolutely no hurry, but it didn’t seem to bother his tormentor as much as usual. They seemed at ease today. 

Good. Maybe their mood was finally passing.

Still uncharacteristically quiet, their hand guided him by the shoulder, indicating that he should take a seat on the lush couch. The other sat next to him on the extended section, close enough that their knees brushed together. A table was already set up with two water glasses, perched neatly upon their ceramic coasters with a box of tissues in between. Hasan gestured to the glass on his side, suggesting he was allowed to drink. 

Declan didn’t wait any longer and took the glass in his hands, mindful of its weight as his mind spun.

Snark caught on the tip of his tongue.

Don’t poke the bear.

But he had to say something. Their silent, blank stare was unnerving enough. 

Don’t-

“Is this a therapy session, then?”

“Lee and I broke up.”

He choked on his first sip of water, setting it down before a cough wracked his body.

“Oh.” He breathed. Suddenly everything made sense. They were still staring. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was mutual.” Hasan wet their lips with a quick flash of tongue and clasped their hands in their lap. Were they… nervous?

“Okay,” he said.

Silence hung heavy over the pair. Hasan’s hand moved to rest on his knee, leaning in ever so slightly despite Declan’s violent flinch. 

“You’re going to be upset. But you’re going to listen,” they said firmly. A thumb rubbed against his skin now: an attempt to soothe his heart, skipping a beat at the words. “I’m not coping as well with it as I’d hoped. I knew it was coming, I just-” They cleared their throat and paused.

Hasan’s startling gaze had slipped down as they talked, but it flashed back up now. Something entirely new unleashed within. Something that had been held back for a very long time.

“You know I find you attractive. That I always have.” Licking their lips again. Declan tried to move away, but the hand tightened. “And I’m telling you what’s going to happen.”

The hand on his thigh may as well have been around his throat, choking out quickening breaths. Adrenaline sharpened the world around him.

“We are going to my bedroom, and you will cooperate. I’m going to touch you how I would touch a partner, and you will let me. I am going to kiss you as I like, and you- sit down, Declan!” They yelled, suddenly on their feet pushing him down as the pit in his stomach only deepened. 

“Hasan-!” He cried out, terror squeezing his throat shut, eyes already welled up and dripping with tears. A hard smack across the face and his world spun as he shrieked, the same hand forcing his chin back toward the cause of all this.

“I don’t think you understand. Look at me.” A wavering, crazed look. “This is not a suggestion. This is a promise. I can make it happen by any means, but cooperation will spare your sanity.” They looked him up and down before tilting their head in a challenge. “You know what I’m capable of. This is going to happen.”

Declan’s hand flew up to cover his mouth as he sobbed uncontrollably, but he was listening intently. Desperately.

“I am going to kiss you as I like, and you will reciprocate.” Those words were slow and pointed, as were their next. “I do not want anything further. Do you understand?” 

He couldn’t process, he couldn’t understand how, but he nodded. It should have been a relief. It should have been a relief.

“I want this, and I need this. I do not care what you need to think about when I use you, but you will not cry. You will not beg unless it is for more. You will not move away unless I order it. You will not disobey. Period. Do I make my orders clear?”

“Just… why me, why can’t you… with anyone else…” Declan nearly heaved with the force of his cry.

“You always knew I wanted you. But I knew what this would do to you, darling, and I didn’t need it. Things change.” 

Their casual shrug forced a white hot rush of anger through him. 

“I can’t- I- I just can’t! What don’t you understand?!” 

Hasan’s thoughtful silence was unnerving. Petrifying. They stood and Declan scrambled back, but they didn’t approach him.

“Let me show you what will happen if you can’t.” He hadn’t noticed the duffel bag underneath the table, now unzipped and hoisted onto the couch. Hasan emptied it one item at a time.

A leather wrist cuff. And another. Set up neatly next to each other. 

A length of chain with locking fasteners on the ends. 

Ankle cuffs. Same as the others. Metal buckles and rings to restrain him with.

The ring gag. Oh god. 

And still more. 

A blindfold. 

A collar. 

“Shock collar,” Hasan stated helpfully. “Reacts to your vocal cords.”

A fucking shock collar.

All set neatly next to each other. His mouth was too dry to speak and trembling hands grasped the water glass, tipping it back up to his lips.

“I’ll ask you again, pet. Can you? Or can’t you?” They approached, dragging a hand along their tools.

“I- I don’t… want to…” he whispered, resolve wavering the closer his captor got.

“I won’t repeat my question.” Hasan’s hand closed around the ring gag.

They knew, they fucking knew that terrified him the most, that asshole-!

“Please! I can! Put it down, please!” They paused. “I can do it. I can.” Declan’s eyes met theirs as they let it fall back on the couch, and he cried anew in relief. They sat right next to him, holding his face in a soft palm, and grabbed a tissue to dab at his tears.

“Shhhhh… I told you that you wouldn’t cry, didn’t I?” He nodded, wiping aggressively at his eyes to stop the tears already gathered there. Hasan shushed him again and guided those hands down, wiping the rest of his face dry. They offered him another to blow his nose with and he took it, doing just that.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. My fuse isn’t getting any longer.”

He took the offered hand, pulling him to his feet and leaving the torture tools behind as they ascended the stairs. The effort nearly winded Declan, who realized he hadn’t been upstairs since Hasan kidnapped him.

The door opened up to a grand foyer. Nothing mansion-esque, but clearly part of an upper class neighborhood. The decor was a bit eccentric, but tasteful. Dark hardwood creaked under their footsteps.

Both of them crossed through a living room, decorated much the same with an extravagant bay window facing out to the backyard, and Declan didn’t notice he’d stopped until Hasan tugged at his hand.

“Sorry, I-” he breathed, eyes glued on the first proper view of the outside he’d had since… he didn’t know anymore. The trees were budding where they’d previously been bare, snow-topped branches.

“After. If you’re good.” Hasan’s voice was soft. Empathetic, almost, if he believed they were capable of caring about him.

The hand in his grabbed his wrist instead, pulling him along, and he had no choice but to follow into a bedroom. The sight of the large, plush bed sent a full-body shudder down his spine. Declan so desperately wanted to lay down and let his body be embraced by unbelievable softness, but the thought of what would happen there kept him frozen in terror.

“I picked an outfit for you, darling. Change into it for me, will you?” They held out his own clothes for him: a short-sleeve button down that hugged his figure and a pair of chino shorts. 

He swallowed a rude comment. Hasan didn’t need any reason to go back downstairs and retrieve their torture instruments.

His captor disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and he let out a shaky sigh, slipping off the t-shirt and jeans he’d already been wearing. It felt strange to put on such a formal outfit and his fingers slipped on each little button, still trembling. Declan smoothed out the plaid pattern before slipping on his shorts, tucking the shirt in as he would in any other instance. A vanity mirror across the room caught his eye.

It was… strange to see himself. Solemn eyes red from tears, messy hair, hollow cheeks, and gaunt figure, all dressed up as if he were on his way to a summer party or golf outing. He ran fingers through his hair in an effort to settle the unkempt strands, and he was combing it all to one side when Hasan emerged.

The first thing Declan noticed was their hair: usually tied back low or flowing over their shoulders but now twisted up in a bun. A few strands hung loose, framing their face and glasses. They wore tight leather pants paired with a light, flowing blouse, and a focused expression until their eyes met his. 

Something in them melted, something else swelling up. 

Something soft. Something hungry.

“On the bed, dear. Now.” The command was missing its usual harsh tone, betraying no urgency whatsoever. It still made Declan’s heart plummet. He swallowed harshly, stepping closer to sit down at the foot of the bed. 

Hasan’s eyes wandered over his body still as they paced, hands behind their back. Surveying. Savoring the experience that had hardly begun.

Not a suggestion: a promise.

Then they stepped closer in front of him, towering over, and Declan couldn’t make himself look up. But Hasan could.

The hand on his cheek, the same one that had held him earlier, forced his chin back so he no longer had a choice in that matter. There was no choice in any of this.

I can make it happen by any means.

Hasan’s gaze flitted from his lips, up to his eyes, and back down. Even in closing his eyes, he could feel the heat radiating off their skin before their lips touched.

They were pursed softly against Declan’s own, pressing a chaste kiss to them before pulling back with a warm sigh. Their foreheads touched when Hasan tilted their head and pulled them together again, slotting their top lip against the tight crease and releasing in the same manner as the first.

It was… gentle. Tender. Declan’s chest curled up tight, something sickening and vile grabbing hold when their other hand caressed the nape of his neck. They hadn’t hurt him at all this past week, and only the pain of long-since inflicted wounds flared up on a bad day. It was wrong to be this close to them and not get hurt. 

They parted them this time, wetting Declan’s bottom lip and letting the suction they created slip away with a soft pop. Hasan’s hand tucked blue strands behind his ear as they brought their body ever closer. 

“You’re exactly as I dreamed…” Pure ecstasy spoke through them. “Kiss back, baby.” 

A shuddering sob begged to wreck him, but too much was at stake. Declan swallowed it down painfully and let his lips fall just slightly from their tightly-pressed state. Hasan took immediate advantage and nudged against them. 

Their mouth was closed but they held the kiss, waiting… for Declan to move against them, he realized. Ever so slowly, he kissed back.

The moment Hasan moved away again he scooted back on the bed, trying to make some space so he could breathe, even just for a moment. A cruel smile followed him and he realized with a jolt that he was only the prey, encouraging his predator’s natural response.

Knees slotted themselves around his hips and weight settled on his lap, pressing up as far as possible and even as he leaned back, arms settled over his shoulders to force him close. A desperate glance up found dark desire staring right back. 

The next kiss took his breath away. Sudden in all the right ways, if it were anyone else. It didn’t end with one anymore but multiple, all rising in intensity as Declan winced and tried to satisfy his captor. To his horror, Hasan let out a soft, breathy moan.

Their hands wandered over his sides, holding him over the shirt by the soft skin right under his ribs and pulling their torsos together. He wondered if they’d realized he was getting thinner: that his ribs protruded where there once was a protective layer of fat. Invasive touches found his spine and traced up it. Maybe it was by design. Maybe they liked his body like this. Declan startled when something wet found his lips.

Wetter, he realized, as the saliva already exchanged had made sure nothing there was particularly dry.

Declan gasped at the unexpectedness of it all, and it was only when that wetness thrust into his mouth that he fully understood. Hasan Badeaux was french kissing him. 

His throat didn’t take well to the instinctive retch, this short moment of reactivity ending in a full fledged coughing fit. Hasan pulled away mercifully to let him finish, but a frown betrayed their dissatisfaction.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I have a strong gag reflex…” Declan heaved, leaning into the moment and hoping beyond all reason that this might deter them.

“Interesting. I don’t recall that being a problem before… and I always thought the bit of the muzzle encroached quite closely on that pretty little throat.” A hand wrapped around it in warning.

“I- It’s more just to do with texture, like-” he gasped when the hand forced him forward, back onto Hasan’s lips. 

Their previous gentle movements were dropped like a facade, not afraid to deter him any longer, simply taking pleasure however they pleased. Their tongue forced its way in marking every surface of his mouth as its own, just as they’d done to his skin. Teeth knocked together and maybe it wasn’t even about physical pleasure: only the mental game of control. 

Hasan had ensured that in the past few months. That Declan would have to defer to them on every single matter.  You wanted to wear something warmer, Dec? Too bad, I want to see you in this today. You want something else to eat? It’s that or the meal supplement. You’re exhausted? Let’s tie you up, I wouldn’t want you getting any sleep now that you asked for it. You followed all the rules and didn’t act out? I’m in a bad mood and you’re going to be my release. 

You can’t stomach making out with the person controlling your each and every move? Too. Fucking. Bad.

A single tear slipped from his left eye and he whimpered in terror, raising his hand to wipe it before they could see-

“Ah, yes, do that again, let it all out,” Hasan groaned. “I can’t get enough of those little noises you make…”

Declan stiffened, immediately realizing his mistake. His tormentor’s eyes were half-lidded with satisfaction, and before he could figure out if they’d noticed him crying, they sat back and placed their hands on their hips.

“Let me taste you in my mouth, now,” they crooned. “It’s only a fair exchange.”

There are only two instances where all is fair, and this was most certainly not love.

A nervous swallow preceded a slow lean and initiation, only trusting himself to lick the outside of their lips, slipping between for just a moment and allowing a high pitched whine. Hasan’s hand gripped the back of his neck again before there was a rustle of fabric and-

Ice. Under his chin, solid unyielding edges, pressing hard, forcing a gasp and fingers flew up to find metal, trace the cylindrical-

Hasan drew back the hammer, safety coming off with a haunting click. Holy shit.

“Last chance.”

Declan stared up, unbelieving, but the insistent nudge of the gun was all too real. 

“Kiss me like your life depends on it.” They leaned close, whispering. “And not just because it does.”

A bolt of adrenaline shot through him, pushing his hands out to take Hasan by the collar of their blouse. He entered their mouth just as they had his, allowing them to take charge. 

Do what you want. I don’t care anymore. Take what you need and go.

The longer it held its ground, the warmer the gun’s muzzle became.

When they sucked on his tongue he moaned properly, asking for more without being forced to say those wretched words. Whether it was worse or better had no bearing on the situation now. It simply was. 

Declan cried out when Hasan finally uncocked the gun and slipped it back into their waistband. The sensation of kissing them was overwhelming, but the absence of an immediate threat offered him more leniency to stop and instead slide fingertips up their arms. In response, Hasan’s hands rested on his shoulders and massaged into them.

“You’re so tense, Declan…” They relished his full name, voice curling possessively around the letters. “Come now, let me take care of you.” 

Hasan laid him back on the mattress, pushing his hands over his head and briefly squeezing them in restraint… but returned to caress his chest instead. Nimble fingers pulled at the buttons on his shirt and Declan had to tilt his head back to hide the clench of his jaw.

“Oh…” They perked up, briefly distracted by his suddenly vulnerable neck. “May I?” 

Fucker, you know damn well I can’t refuse.

He nodded shallowly.

“What was that, baby?”

“You may.” 

A few more buttons fell open, and warm hands pushed the fabric away from Declan’s chest. He could feel Hasan lean over him, see their hands land next to his head, feel hot breath on vulnerable skin, all teasing what was to come. A sudden scratch of a fingernail instead made him jolt, staring at his faux-lover in shock.

“What the hell- nnhh!”  

Hasan pulled him down by the hair, advancing at his neck now that he’d finally lost concentration. The stubble on their chin was obvious now, prickling as they wandered over the skin, only occasionally having the decency to pull away. 

It would certainly have been advantageous to fake a few more sounds at this point, but there was no need to fake anything. There were suddenly teeth at the crook of his neck, pressing in, and lips closing over skin to pull it into their mouth.

“Fuck-!! Hasan!” Declan shouted, desperately resisting the urge to push them off! Were they serious?!

Labored breaths rasped out of him until Hasan finally pulled away, leaving a hickey that would surely stain his skin for weeks. Worse yet, his face was flushed an indecent shade of red from his natural response to such stimuli.

“You always seem so bothered about marks,” Hasan panted, tracing a few raised scars they’d cut into his chest. “And yet…” They shot him a wolfish grin, showing off their incisors and all, and made a show of dragging the back of their hand up his face.

“Who says I’m not?” A slight bite to his words. Just as much as he could get away with. 

They brought their hand to his forehead, judging the temperature there with a thoughtful little wobble of the head. Declan had to swallow down the memory of his mother doing the same whenever he fell ill as a child. No tears. Not right now. 

“Your body, I believe. Certainly over thirty-eight degrees right now.” Declan’s blank look clued them into their error. “Right. Celsius. You’re feverish, pet.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut and they chuckled, giving him a short peck on the lips. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get what you so clearly want.” 

And then it was happening again, digging a little deeper, pulling a little harder, staying a little longer, breaking him down bit by bit. 

When they decided he needed a third, Declan pressed a hand to the back of their head simply for the illusion of control or some twisted concept of free will. If he was making it happen it couldn’t hurt so badly anymore. 

They drew blood that time.

“Isn’t this color just made for me, darling? I’ll admit, it’s tragic to wash the splatters out whenever you splash on me.” They rubbed it into their lips, pursing them for approval that came in the form of a shaky nod. “Come, taste it.”

Hasan kissed him hard, pushing the metallic taste down his throat before he could accept or refuse. Then they were kissing down his face, sticky marks staining the skin there a rusted red, and returning to their original position.

“Pity… seems the flow has stemmed,” they sighed, swiping a finger and frowning when it came up clean. “Ah, well.” 

Hands returned to his shirt, finally providing some sense of normalcy. At least he was used to Hasan stripping his clothes off. Their tugging was gentle but insistent, pulling the shirt out of his waistband to find the last few buttons. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.” Wet warmth traced Declan’s scars: cut, burned, whipped into him… now a playground for their satisfaction. Not that those other actions didn’t already serve the same purpose. Christ. Knowing they’d probably felt this way the entire time was disturbing at the very least.

He settled a hand back onto their head, tracing the bun in an attempt to disguise trembling fingers. Why couldn’t he have been with just one person with hair past their shoulders? Why did he have to have such a type? The only thing he could’ve found attractive about Hasan was their mild muscle definition, but that was washed away the moment they used it against him. 

And yet, his body betrayed him every step of the way. Ticklish goddamn ribs made him squirm even as he tried to disconnect from the sensation and, as soon as his assailant realized, they exploited it just the same as everything else. An involuntary smile caught him off guard; more purposeful movements forced laughter. 

It was exhausting. Useless to hold back, but painful to fuel that zealot. 

At some point they returned to kiss his lips, whispering sweet nothings, spent by their own choices. Then they said the magic words.

“Come on, Dec. Let’s take you back downstairs.”

He broke, then, tears streaming down his cheeks in relief, sobs hiccuping back up from where they’d been stowed away. Balance failed him when his feet hit the ground, but Hasan steadied him before leading the way out. 

The gun’s handle poked out behind them, taunting, shifting with each step of the madman. And somewhere under grief, fatigue, and hurt lay an ashen anger and a stray match. 

He’d never even held a gun before.

Declan followed close on their heels, breathing deep and holding it when he pinched the firearm and slid it out. They didn’t flinch when the muzzle scraped their back or when he grasped the handle with both hands, blood rushing in his ears. The soft click of the safety coming off stopped them. Hasan turned around when he held it up. 

Their face screamed danger, but heavy metal promised an end once and for all.

Come on, Declan. Hold it out, just hit them anywhere, stop fucking shaking you don’t have another chance-!

Hasan lunged, and Declan squeezed the trigger.

.

…

For a moment he decided his reaction was delayed. That his mind was trying to ward off the inevitable trauma of the shot, deafening him preemptively, freezing his field of vision. 

Then Hasan, paused in motion, stood back up straight and tilted their head. 

“And here I was, thinking you’d be smarter than that by now.” 

Wide green eyes watched them saunter up and tear the gun away, popping the magazine out. Empty. The whole time, it was empty. Of course. 

“It seems there’s still more to beat out.”

A swing brought the pistol down on the back of his head with a crack, passing out before he crumpled to the ground.

~~~

Tag List: Hi lovely folks!! You were on my tag list two and a half years ago when I last posted a chapter of this story, so I'm keeping you on just in case! Please don't hesitate to message me if you'd like to be removed, absolutely no hard feelings :D!!! (Except for you Juno, you're trapped here like Declan <3333)

@suspicious-whumping-egg , @as-a-matter-of-whump, @hurting-fictional-people, @stab-the-son-of-a

[mentallyshattered]

This is part 3 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

"Myaah, keep going!"

"Non, chat. You no longer need to be brushed. Vil, how is Yuu's hair coming along?"

Vil sighs. I've noticed he does that a lot. "Not as well as I thought, Rook. Even though the top layer was absurdly thick, the lower layers don't look much better. This is going to take longer than I expected."

I look up and into the mirror in front of me. Vil has cut my hair short, but the process of detangling the remaining mat of hair has caused the detangled hair to be noticeably longer than what's still a total mess. I'd say the hair he's worked through is about 4 inches, just long enough to cover my ears.

"Say, Monseur Mystery, how did you guess Monseur Chat's name?"

"Well..." I hesitate. Even now, the thoughts of his death still hurt. "When I was living in my world, I found a cat. He was my only friend. He was an alley cat, but chubby- not in a concerning or limiting way, just in a cute way- and he was grey with a large patch of white fur on his front, and his tail faded into black at the end, and... he had polydactly. I think that's what it's called, at least. Do you guys know what that is?"

"Nope!" Grim's reply is cheerful, like an island of comfort in a sea of mourning.

"Well, it's a condition where your limbs split off into multiple limbs. So, a two-tipped finger or extra toe or something. Well, my cat had it on the end of his tail. It looked, " I pause, reaching my hand toward Grim and trying, failing, to hold back tears. "Into three. A trident tail, just like this." I'm holding his tail in my hand now, careful, like he might break just as my voice is doing now. I can hardly speak through the lump in my throat, but I can speak.

"A-and that cat's name was Grim. And he was hit by a car when he was eight, and I've never been the same." I'm crying now, my eyes reduced to floodgates and my voice to a wreck. Vil is hugging me, his arms bringing some sense of safe to me, but that sense of safe pales in comparison to the comfort of holding Grim in my arms. His fur is soft, much softer now that he's been brushed, and Rook has joined the hug.

We stay there, just like that, for what feels like forever. Vil's arms are strong around me, as are Rook's, and I'm holding Grim again, and I don't want to lose him again. I can't. I barely survived the first time; I can't survive a second. The guilt would kill me.

"I guessed his name, too. I didn't know how. It just felt right. But... Yuu, you kind of remind me of someone. Another human. He fed me in my dreams, and his name was Yuu, and we were great friends, but one day he just stopped showing up. I never saw him again." Grim's previously sad face brightens a little, like a tea candle with just enough air to burn. "You look a lot like him, but older. Maybe... maybe he was you."

The tears come back. I let them. This time, they're happy tears, and Grim is crying them, too. Vil allows a few more minutes to pass, just like that, before he lets go and resumes his task of unmatting the other half of my hair. Rook pulls away, too, and waves his magic pen.

A tape measure, like you see tailors using in movies, appears in the air in front of him for him to wrap around my waist with skillful hands. Soon, he's removed the tape measure from my waist in favor of wraping it around my chest, and then my arms, and then Vil tells him off for doing something unnecessary.

I laugh. "Say, Monseur Mystery, have you tried to use magic since you arrived?"

I ponder. "Not really."

Rook chuckles. "Facinating."

"Are you okay with others being let into the room, Yuu?" Vil's voice is soft and soothing. I'm a little jealous, but who cares?

"Go right ahead." The lump in my throat is gone now that Grim is purring happily in my arms, just enjoying the sensation of being pet. Rook leaves the room- still holding his tape measure, I notice- and the door shuts behind him. Surprisingly, I don't hear his footsteps as he walks away, even before the door is closed and blocking my view.

Less than a minute later, the door opens again, revealing Rook, Korrak, and Korrak's familiar, whose name I do not yet know. Rook waves his pen, cleaning the cat brush with magic, and starts brushing the strange oppossum as he brushed Grim.

"Hey, what's your name? I'm Grim!"

"Call me Mandible."

Well, I guess I have a name to go with both of my roommates now. Unlike Grim, Mandible needs only a few minutes of brushing before his fur is even and soft, at which point Rook measures him, waves his pen, and voilá: five small stacks of clothing appear on the counter.

"What are those?" Mandible is already poking at the piles by the time he thinks to ask. I wasn't expecting Mandible to be more talkative than Korrak, but I guess Grim and I are no better.

"Uniforms! The white one is a lab coat for alchemy, the violet one is a dorm uniform, the one next to the lab coat is a PE uniform, the one next to the dorm uniform is a school uniform, and the one in between the dorm clothes and lab coat are some ceremonial robes. All are sized exactly for Monseur Opossum, of course." Rook looks quite proud of himself.

"Myaah, neato! Do I get some?"

"But of course, Monseur Chat! If you'll allow me a moment..." Rook starts measuring Grim just like he did with Mandible, and Vil lets out a triumphant "Hah!"

"Finally conquered my hair?"

"Not entirely, but I'm done with the hard part." With this, Vil pulls out a brush- not a cat brush, just a regular human brush- and starts running it through my hair in a soothing rhythm. Tired from the short day's events, I allow it to lull me to sleep.

[onlytiktoks]

[alienaiver]

mentioned snøfle was sick earlier. the bastard ate a 12cm string while my catsitter was in the bathroom yesterday right before i came home. he has absolutely no symptoms or issues whatsoever but im convinced he wont survive passing it, so i havent slept since saturday night and keeping a constant watchful eye on him; hes eating, drinking, playing and going to the toilet just fine (hasnt made number two since right before he ate the string, so im waiting patiently </3)

we have my friends mom on standby to go to the vet in case he gets complications but ive always been somewhat of a hen parent and im pacing nervously around :( i know im 97% over reacting but i cant bear the thought of losing him while i sleep or am out, so everythings on standby rn. i wanna write but my minds elsewhere but it did help a little to draw earlier but hands do be hurty <3 ill reply to ppl asap but my minds uh. cluttered

[puppie-cub]

vent, tw pet loss, tw eating disorded stuff

i dont feel good. i wanna fight someone, i wanna hit and throw things, i wanna hurt, scream and kick. just get to be a bad dog and kid

i dont wanna really wanna talk to anyone but i want kinda wan attention. i guess i want stuff where im not expected to respond. but that seems mean? like selfish

my puppy is gone. the house is quieter without her here, and life just keeps going 'like normal.' ive got her collar and the favt that ill never hear the tag on it clink as she jumps around excited to see us makes me wsnt to scream.

i wanna starve again, i dont need food, its not good for me right now, itll just make me feel heavier and grosser and i already dont feel very alive

i hate it, i hate everything, i hate myself, i hate the world and time and growing old and illnesses. i want my doggy back

[nmolesofadrenaline]

[wanderingguest]

just wanted to let those of y'all who've been following me. for a hot minute know that HamilCat crossed the rainbow bridge this afternoon.

he had cancer, but had been doing well. his downturn was sudden. he went fairly quickly and wasn't in pain. I held him while he took his last breaths. I laid him to rest with his favorite blanket. when my finances are back on track, I'm going to get him a paw print marker.

i'm beyond heartbroken. he was my cuddle bug. he followed me everywhere. my room feels a little bit emptier and there's a kitty sized hole in my heart tonight.

remember to give your pets all the snugs.

[swagtastic-bougie-pompadour]

Slight update on the whole ‘I think I’m being haunted by my meowth’ situation, is there a possibility he came back as ghost type or is he just a ghost? I don’t know much about ghosts and ghost type pokémon…

Hm... there's sort of a difference between "ghost types" and "ghosts", far as your friend Clive knows.

Ghost types, paradoxically enough, are still sort of... alive in their own way. Using moves, eating (though unconventionally) to live, et cetera. Plus, some ghost types never "died" in the first place. Your Skeledirge is still alive, pals.

Ghosts simply linger. They don't need anything to sustain their own existence, they just... do! Which is a little freaky, and also a little cool! And as long as they're treated right, most ghosts have a very low chance of actually harming anyone.

So if you meet a ghost, folks, just be polite! Try to scream only a little teensy bit. Unless they're trying to scare you. Then be polite and scream a lot.

...Anyways, uh, your Meowth. I'm thinking "just a ghost"!

[xoxovanillq]

Tw- Vent

k, why can’t i just have an okay life for once? i can’t just have a year where nothing happens. i feel so paralyzed, we had to put down my cat today, and i’m going to a new school where no one knows me. last year i was so badly depressed, year before that i was bullied. my whole life feels like shit, and i love the good parts, but really, i feel like i don’t enjoy a lot anymore except sitting in my room while listening to music. i just feel so burnt out, tired, and just so upset a lot of the time.